Someone To Watch Over Me
by messyfeathers
Summary: Earl has always had a protective instinct, and Cecil could definitely use some looking after. But just because the pieces fit doesn't mean they belong together. [Cecil/Earl progression from childhood friends to something more]
1. Campfire Kisses

_Disclaimer: Welcome to Night Vale is property of Commonplace Books. Also slight unreality warning for a conversation in this chapter._

* * *

"Harlan!" Scoutmaster Wendell barks. The scout's head shoots up immediately, blue eyes intent, entire demeanor shifting to alertness as his attention snaps from a giggled private conversation with his best friend to the orders from the scoutmaster. Not that such dedication is required or expected; Oliver Wendell barks every order with a snarl, though his personality is really that of a puppy more than a spiderwolf. Earl pays such avid attention because the scouts are the one thing in the world he's sure he loves, and he loves it with all his heart for more than one reason. "Palmer can set up his own tent," Wendell continues, intentionally not looking at the inappropriate shapes Cecil is drawing in the sand with a twig.

"Sir," Earl interjects. Cecil stops drawing at that and shoots him a surprised look. Earl is a model boy scout; Earl never talks back. "P-palmer and I have always shared a tent." Scoutmaster Wendell gives a tired sigh indicative of a lifetime spent working with mouthy teenagers.

"Harlan, you expressed an interest in Junior Leadership. Junior leaders sleep under the stars and take turns with watch during campouts." Earl doesn't need to turn to know Cecil's gesturing dramatic imitations of the scoutmaster behind his back.

"Gods, Earl, _everybody_ knows that," Cecil whispers sarcastically. Earl elbows him playfully in the ribs as Master Wendell turns his attention towards a group of younger scouts.

"They're going to stick you with a new recruit," Earl warns over his shoulder as he rises to follow after their leader.

"I've been bunking with you for five years now," Cecil laughs, kicking the gritty canvas smooth in preparation for tent-pitching. "How much worse could it really be?"

* * *

"Cecil! Hey, Cecil!" a squeaky voice pipes from across the small tent. Cecil sighs audibly.

"What is it now, Steve?"

"What's up there? Past the sky?" His little voice is brimming with excitement and curiosity. Under other circumstances it would be an interesting question; Cecil and Earl had often discussed such things late at night in curious whispers of their own. And he knows he should be nice; after all, whether or not he particularly enjoys Steve Carlsberg's company, it's the job of the mid-level scouts to mentor and assist the new recruits. With this in mind, he affects the least sarcastic level of enthusiasm he can manage when he finally responds.

"I don't know, Steve. What do _you_ think is out there?" There's a moment of blessed silence during which Cecil imagines his young charge has dropped into unconsciousness; then a single definitive response.

"Aliens."

"That's stupid," Cecil snaps, pushing himself up with one arm. "Why the heck would there be _aliens_?" The babyfaced scout just blinks up at him from his little camp bag cocoon. "You know what's out there? Nothing. Empty, lonely nothing. It's called the void. It's the sum of our existence." Steve's mouth pops open in surprise, unintentionally egging on a further response from his sleep-deprived tentmate. " _If_ we really exist, that is." Cecil adopts his best imitation of Leonard Burton's ominous pitch. "Do I really exist, Steve? Can you prove I'm not something your subconscious has projected? Do _you_ exist? Or is all of this-" he gestures around at the worn canvas above them, "are all of us void in the end?" Satisfied with the saucer diameter of Steve's brown eyes, Cecil nestles back into his own sleeping bag. The sound of cicadas nearly lulls him into sleep before another softly squeaked question.

"But are there aliens in the void?"

"Oh my god, go to sleep, Steve," Cecil hisses, snatching up a jacket and tripping over the bundle of Steve on his way out into the night. Seven marched steps later, he plops himself onto the sand next to Earl's huddled form.

"Can't sleep?" Earl asks, poking with a charred twig at the flickering watchfire in front of them.

"He never shuts up," Cecil sighs.

"To be fair, neither do you," Earl teases, nudging his best friend with a shoulder. Cecil's grin gradually fades as they both turn their attention to the point in the sky where tossed sparks give way to flickering stars.

"What do you think is out there? Past the stars?" Cecil asks quietly after a long time. Earl shrugs.

"More stars. More sky. More everything. I read in a book once that we're tiny. Like a speck of sand in this whole desert," he adds in a hushed whisper, careful in case anyone might overhear the confession. "What do you think is out there?"

Cecil ponders the question for several moments. Earl watches him from the corner of his eye; Cecil's beautiful, even when his mind is distant and unreachably far away like this. The firelight transforms his eyes into glimmering amber; the soft warm glow dances across his freckled skin in caramel flickers. Earl has to try very hard not to stare into those eyes or wish he could run his fingers over those freckles, find out how far they go. The trance breaks as Cecil shivers once, violently, despite the blossoming flames licking dangerously close to his arms. "Aliens," he mutters dismissively. Earl snorts, but Cecil remains still, eyes fixed on something distant and unpleasant by the way the corners of his mouth quiver slightly.

"My mom's still gone," he finally whispers to the flames.

"Still?" Earl gapes. "Ceec, you told everyone she came back almost two months ago."

"I didn't want anyone to worry about me. Only you and Josie know now, and that's just.." with a slender fingertip he lazily draws a crescent moon into the sand between them. Cecil is good at talking until it's about something important. Earl has learned over the years how to fill in the blanks.

"Because you're worried about yourself?" he finishes for him. Cecil nods, folding his knees in to his chest and resting his chin atop them.

"I don't have anyone, Earl. I mean, Josie checks on me occasionally and my sister sends carrier pigeons from college every few months, but sometimes I want someone who will take care of me."

"I'll take care of you," Earl says without hesitation. Immediately he squints his eyes shut, sure his face is crimson in the firelight. Of all the moments and methods for confession, a thoughtless offer was not what he had planned. An explanation is perched between his teeth, but Cecil laughs unexpectedly - a breathy giggling sound higher pitched than his normal voice.

"I'm older than you," he reminds his friend. Earl shrugs, slightly relieved at the turn in the conversation.

"So? I'm taller than you. That's got to count for something. Besides, I mean, you know my mom loves you. You can always crash at my place or come by for dinner anyway. And if you need stuff for school or something I'm sure she'd help out if you asked, or I could ask for you." He's rambling on, hoping the more words he strings along, the quicker Cecil will interpret the slip as something innocuous.

"Thanks," Cecil says gently. "I guess I just want to sometimes feel like a little kid still. I just want someone to make me turtle soup when I'm sick and lecture me about cleaning my room and tell me when to start liking girls."

"I don't think that last one's something someone _tells_ you, Ceec," Earl chuckles. "It's something that just sort of..happens."

"Well, it's never _happened_ to me," Cecil retorts skeptically. Earl shoots him a puzzled look.

"It doesn't have to be girls," he adds. "I mean, haven't you ever met someone who just..." he exhales and glances up at the canopy of stars above them. Of all people in the world to have this discussion with, of course it had to be Cecil. "They make you feel all nervous, and you feel a little sick" -he coughs around the butterflies in his stomach- "and your hands go all clammy" -he rubs his palms discreetly on the hem of his khaki shorts- "but you wouldn't want to be around anyone else? And sometimes when they look at you," he forces himself to meet Cecil's curious eyes, "it takes your breath away a little.."

For a long moment neither of the boys breathes. Cecil's the first to look away, back at the fire that's begun to crawl off towards the desert in their distraction. Earl wrangles it back with ease.

"I guess I have," Cecil admits with a shrug. "Maybe. But definitely not with Leann Hart, even though I kinda asked her to the wordless hum and tuneless chant party next weekend."

"T-that's good though, that you have someone to go with," Earl stutters, silently cursing himself for not asking Cecil weeks ago to go with him like he had originally planned.

"You'd think. But what if she wants me to kiss her or something? Earrrl, I don't know how to do any of this," Cecil mumbles, burying his face in his hands. Earl reaches for those hands, carefully prying them away from his friend's face.

"Come on, Ceec, kissing's easy." Cecil's gaze drifts briefly down to their joined hands before flicking back up again.

"Show me?" Barely a whisper, but just enough to cause the scout's heart to race wildly. He's only kissed one other person before, out of curiosity and opportunity; this time it's different because this is _Cecil_. This is what he's wanted more than anything ever since they were twelve. His movements are guarded, cautious as he reaches out, fingertips brushing along the other boy's cheekbone. Gently he leans in, presses his lips to Cecil's, lingers a moment, and pulls away.

Sparks - figurative, possibly literal - flicker behind his eyelids and all around them in the desert night. Electricity blossoms where his fingers still brush dark skin. For a moment the whole world feels weightless, like the anti-gravity weekends every November.

For his part, Cecil looks equally confused and intrigued. "That was strange. Kinda squishy." He scrunches his face, wrinkling his nose in thought. Earl wants to laugh, but he's spellbound and a little dizzy and -

Without any warning, Cecil pulls Earl in and kisses him again. Their teeth clatter against each other a bit, and it's a little sloppy, but Earl can feel it when Cecil smiles into his lips halfway through. "Better," Cecil breathes when he finally leans away. "Now I'll have at least had some practice if Leann expects me to kiss her." Earl feels his heart drop and his breath leave his lungs as if he'd been plunged unexpectedly into ice water.

"Palmer." Both boys jump at the scoutmaster's low warning. "I'm going to pretend I didn't see you out of your tent past curfew."

Cecil scrambles immediately to his feet. "Yes, Master Wendell." He's already a few steps away before Earl reaches for his wrist, drawing his attention back one moment longer.

"Ceec, don't-" don't go, don't kiss Leann Hart, _don't tell me you didn't feel that_. His still-spinning mind finally settles for the right words. "Don't do things just because people expect them of you. Do them because it's what you want."

"Palmer," Scoutmaster Wendell barks from the shadow. Cecil offers a half smile, wriggles his way out of Earl's grasp and heads back towards his own tent.


	2. Someone Else's Arms

_**warning:**_ _this chapter forward will have vague references to sexual coercion and partner abuse. the mentions are very vague and are not between Cecil and Earl, but are still worth warning for in case anyone reading this is sensitive to those topics._

* * *

 _Can you come pick me up?_

The little scroll bearing the note drifts down into Earl's lap from a falcon passing overhead. It's in Cecil's looping script. Earl hops into the drivers' seat of the old pickup his parents gave him for his sixteenth birthday last month without hesitation. The entire drive over he plans a sarcastic lecture. He told Cecil a hundred times to take drivers' ed with him over the summer, but Cecil was dead-set on getting his astral projection permit first. By the time he arrives, Cecil's slouched on the curb out front of the Ralph's - their designated meeting point for non-scouting endeavors. Before the truck even stops, he's already swinging himself into the passenger side. Earl's just about to set off on his prepared soapbox speech when Cecil sniffles. The sound catches Earl by surprise; it hadn't occurred to him to question just how Cecil had gotten stranded.

"Ceec, are you alright? Where were you?"

"Keegan's house," Cecil mumbles, crumpling against the worn leather. It takes Earl a minute to place the name; he makes a habit of forgetting about Cecil's growing list of boyfriends. "Can you take me back home?" Earl should start the car, but he doesn't like the way Cecil's voice is breaking like that. His hands twist white-knuckled on the steering wheel as his mind begins to fabricate scenarios.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Can you just take me home?" Cecil whispers, curling into himself and leaning against the window. Earl starts the car and eases into traffic before venturing another question.

"Ceec, really, are you okay?"

Cecil shakes his head, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. The mulberry fabric comes away smudged with once-precise eyeliner. He'd been all done up for something, but judging by the bedraggled state of his appearance, the afternoon had taken a different turn altogether. Earl doesn't know what to say, so he switches on the radio. It seems to calm Cecil down to hear the familiar voice narrate some news about sentient dust bunnies.

It's a considerable drive to the Palmer residence. Earl has never been particularly fond of the foreboding structure; he likes it even less in the eerie state it has adopted over the past two years. The front lawn is overgrown and withered. The shutters are a chipping violet against the pale speckled brick. The entire building exudes an air of neglect and abandonment. Cecil confessed once to giving fake addresses for most everything since his family left. As far as anyone knows, nobody even lives at the Palmer house anymore. Earl gives a shiver as the truck comes to a stop.

"Why don't you come home with me?" he offers. It's true that he and Cecil have been drifting gradually apart for the past few months. School and scout leadership training and Cecil's romantic endeavors have begun to strain the seams of their friendship, but even the growing distance hasn't lessened Earl's willingness to retrace their steps back to where they were as kids. "Mama made vulture pie, we can pull up an extra chair at the table." Cecil flashes a half-hearted smile, but shakes his head. "Ceec...I just want to make sure you're okay." Cecil pauses with his hand on the door handle.

"Then would you mind staying with me just for a little while?"

Earl hasn't been inside the Palmers' place for years. Whatever he was expecting, it isn't what he finds. Broken glass litters the floor; plants wind their way in through windows, climbing across walls and through cupboards; wallpaper peels in sludgy ribbons thick with congealed ectoplasm. "Cecil, I.." he's dumbfounded by the sight, shocked that his best friend has lived this way for years without him ever knowing. "Doesn't Old Woman Josie check up on you anymore?"

"She thinks I moved just like everyone else does," Cecil shrugs, kicking aside the shards of what was once a mirror as he wanders towards the kitchen. He pauses once he reaches the destination as if he's not sure what comes next. "There's food.." he waves a hand vaguely towards the entire room. They stand for a long moment side-by-side in the doorframe, neither making any attempt to actually do anything. From the corner of his eye, Earl catches a glimpse of Cecil. His sweater has slipped off one bony shoulder, revealing blossoming indigo fingerprints beneath the skin.

"I'll get something together to eat if you want to go shower," he offers gently. Cecil nods, slowly at first and then emphatically as a bit of the cloudy haze clears from his expression. Earl waits to step into the kitchen until he's examined every visible cranny for potential threats. Years of scout training have instilled a level of alertness beyond that generally required to simply make it through the tenth grade alive in the Night Vale school system. He's careful in his selection of leaves from the trespassing greenery, eventually collecting enough to make a substantial broth. The oven's out of the equation, given all the appliances are nothing more than burned husks. Instead he sparks a small fire in the sink, practiced hands coaxing the flame into existence from what untrained eyes would perceive as thin air.

His eyes wander while he waits for the broth to boil. The wallpaper is peeling in this room too, though it looks torn instead of simply tired. Strips of the flowery stuff are missing, and behind them chunks of drywall have been clawed out. Curiosity getting the better of him, he abandons the soup to fend for itself and follows the gouged lines. They loop haphazardly around the doorframes, in some places sweeping down all the way to floorboards riddled with missing planks. Someone was looking for something. He's halfway into the living room when he finds it.

A sheet of wallpaper is torn away along with a thin layer of drywall. And there, in elegantly curved writing is a blood-red annotation.

 _Cecil G. Palmer, age 15, the flickering shape in the mirror. he will die alone._

Earl's fingertips trace the words, and the ones notched several times into the wall with a bowie knife beneath the inscription.

 _I'm still alive._

Cecil never told him what happened. He never said anything beyond that his mother left and didn't come back.

"What happened to you.." Earl murmurs to no one in particular. There's a flicker on his periphery; he half expects something terrifying and deadly to be there when he turns, but it's only Cecil looking small and fragile in a community radio sweatshirt two sizes too big. His eyes no longer bear that glazed, distant look, and his bottom lip is trembling. Earl leaves the wall and its mysteries behind and chooses to focus instead on the troubles of the present. "Feeling better?"

"I can still feel his hands on me," Cecil mumbles, hugging his arms close to fend off the shivers that have begun to wrack his body. Earl flops back onto the sofa and opens his arms. Cecil accepts the invitation without hesitation, curling into Earl's lap with ease. Earl has never been the best with words, so he simply holds Cecil and lets him cry.

"I'm - so - stupid," Cecil manages once the tears finally dissipate into irregular hiccups.

"This is not your fault," Earl replies, careful to keep the boiling anger in his stomach from reaching his voice. Cecil shakes his head, still keeping his face buried against Earl's shoulder.

"I knew what he was like, and I still went over when he asked. I thought-" another hiccup. "I just let it happen because I thought at least he wanted me." For a moment, glassy brown eyes peek out from their burrow and Cecil suddenly looks years younger again, wide-eyed and afraid. His voice has withered into a broken whisper. "Now if I say no, he'll get upset."

"You have every right to tell him no. If he gives you trouble, then I'll take care of him. No better time than the present to earn my Deadly Aim and Lethal Force badge," Earl adds simply. Cecil laughs in that way that scrunches his nose and squints his eyes, and Earl can't imagine anyone ever hurting something so perfect. "It's my job to take care of you after all," he continues, hoping the sincerity in his face will outweigh the humor in his voice.

Something in Cecil's eyes suggests he understands the meaning behind the offer."I'm still older than you," he says softly.

"I'm still taller. Much taller now actually." Both boys break into grins at the familiar squabble.

"Well, you're definitely much less bony too," Cecil sighs, nestling back against Earl's chest. They're used to being close this way. Half their childhood was spent in some sort of physical contact due to Cecil's predilection for tactile connections. Still, Earl has to admit that he's missed the closeness over the past several months. It feels somehow very different, and he can imagine electric sparks from a desert years ago if he thinks too long about it. A few moments later, Cecil pushes himself back up with an unintentionally jutted elbow. "He knows where I live," he whispers urgently. "What if he comes by tonight?"

Earl pushes back a stringy, half-dried lock of ebony hair that's fallen into Cecil's fearful eyes. "Then I'll stay."

Content, the older boy snuggles back into a comfortable position. Eventually Cecil's hiccups all but vanish as his breathing steadies into the patterns of a light sleep. Earl's joints will be stiff with complaint in the morning, but he doesn't dare move in the event Cecil might change his mind about their sleeping arrangements. Earl presses a gentle kiss somewhere in Cecil's dark hair before closing his eyes. They can talk about all this in the morning.

* * *

When Earl wakes up the next morning, his arms are empty. For a single terrified moment, he can't place his surroundings until he hears the hushed tones of Cecil's voice drifting from the kitchen. He makes his way toward the sound while carefully avoiding the slices of wallpaper and shards of glass littering the floor.

"Of course I didn't tell anyone what happened- no, I wouldn't have used that word." Cecil's clutching the phone with one hand, ruffling his hair in frustration with the other. The toe of Earl's boot accidentally sends a fragment of glass skittering across the kitchen floor. Cecil whirls around at the sound while an impatient voice mutters on through the receiver. "N-no," he stutters, coming back to the conversation. "The truck belongs to.." eyes the color of cinnamon meet Earl's for a flicker of a moment before dropping back to the floor. "a friend. He's just a friend."

The room is suddenly suffocatingly small. Earl feels as much an intruding presence as the plants that creep and crawl across the walls. He very much would like to turn and run, escape the too-fast rhythm of a breaking heart, but something keeps him rooted to the creaking floorboards.

"You don't have to come- okay," Cecil mumbles. "Okay, I'll - I'll see you in a few minutes then." The click of the phone in the receiver nearly echoes in the eerie silence of the house. The effect seems to unsettle Cecil further, since he feels the need to fill the space with an explanation. "Keegan just wants to talk."

"And you're going to let him do what he wants?" Earl doesn't intend it to be hurtful, but Cecil still looks stricken when he finally lifts his gaze from the floor.

"He'll be upset if you're here when he gets here," Cecil says finally. Earl doesn't want to leave, not when he saw firsthand how conversations between Cecil and his boyfriend appear to end; but there's nothing to be done if Cecil doesn't want his help. Before leaving, he turns back to rest a fluttering hand briefly on his best friend's shoulder where the markings still bloom beneath the layers of colorful clothing.

"If you need me.."

Cecil nods appreciatively, but somewhere down inside Earl can feel what little grasp he had on hope slip away.

* * *

 _notes:_ _I based the part about the wall on the Faceless Old Woman's bit in The Debate about how she writes the specifics of people's deaths on the insides of their walls._

 _I also have a headcanon that Cecil is very uncertain about reality at times, and takes a lot of comfort and reassurance from things he can touch. as a result, that's also a lot of how he expresses closeness and affection to people he cares about._

 _anyway. the chapters get a little happier from here I promise!_


	3. Until the Sunrise

"Palmer, I'm fairly sure the point of walking the line isn't to then sit at the end of it," Earl teases as he finishes collecting the debris in the aftermath of their high school graduation ceremony. Cecil is perched on the edge of the broad bloodstone altar where hours earlier, 72 seniors enthusiastically marched their way through commencement. He's the only other soul in sight; everyone except the scout troop who volunteered for cleanup duty dispersed almost immediately following the ritualistic sacrifice and outpouring of confetti. By now even the troop has been dismissed for the day, leaving only the two of them and however many secret police dared to linger at the site. The vacant lot seeming clean enough for Earl's liking, he tosses aside his work gloves and pushes himself up to sit next to Cecil on the intricately carved pedestal.

There's space between them now. It's a mere few inches physically, but so much further beneath the surface. Still, the air in the clearing tastes of nostalgia, prompting some small spark of camaraderie between the two old friends.

"Really though, aren't all you cool kids supposed to be at some big shindig down at the Desert Rose?" Earl asks as he follows Cecil's gaze to the early shades of a sunset over Night Vale's unremarkable skyline. Cecil shrugs.

"I guess this is what happens when your ride decides he'd rather ride with someone else from here on out."

Earl can't come up with any sort of condolence that doesn't sound sarcastic and forced beyond belief; he chooses to gloss over the sympathy altogether.

"I still have my truck you know," he offers with a grin. "I can get you to the Desert Rose." Cecil shrugs again and pushes himself off the altar with a nod.

"You can just take me home. I have some copy-editing to do for Leonard tonight anyway," Cecil says as he pulls open a rusting door and climbs into the familiar cab.

"Ceec, we just made it through high school, and you're not even going to party a little bit? I have a case of orange milk under the back seat." It isn't a serious offer, but he still feels a little disappointed when Cecil quirks his lips and shakes his head indecisively.

"Years later and you still don't have air in this thing?" his passenger jokes as they turn onto the highway leading towards town.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Astral-Projection-Is-A-Valid-Form-of-Transportation. Some of us actually like to arrive at our destinations in a corporeal form - warm though those forms may be."

Cecil's bright laugh escapes into the desert night as he lowers the window for a breeze and slips out of his hooded graduation robe. Earl glances over to watch Cecil's nose wrinkle that same way he never quite managed to grow out of, but his eyes wander instinctively down to a cluster of yellowing bruises along his friend's collarbone instead.

"Jesus, Cecil," he breathes without thinking. The cab immediately drains of humor. Earl knows he shouldn't press the issue, but he's done biting his tongue and letting the behavior slide. "Why do you always pick the worst guys?"

"You're really going to lecture me when you know I already feel like shit?" Cecil retorts.

"Language!" Earl barks instinctively. He's momentarily startled at just how quickly he's adopted his mentor's behavior as scoutmaster. Cecil rolls his eyes dramatically and adjusts to watching the scrublands blur past. "You know you deserve better than how they treat you, right?" Earl adds a little softer. Cecil fumbles with the door handle.

"Just let me out here. I'll walk home."

"Ceec, we're in the middle of nowhere," Earl protests even as he pulls his truck off to the sandy shoulder. Cecil slips out of the cab, but boots are quick to follow his footsteps into the sun-streaked sand wastes. It takes Earl no time to catch up to his friend. "You're not even going the right way," he points out. With a heavy sigh, Cecil turns back to face him. He folds his arms close across his chest, bracing for a lecture. "You know you deserve so much more," Earl repeats gently. "You deserve someone who thinks you're amazing and takes care of you. Someone who's going to hold you when you feel disconnected and kiss you just _because,_ and never hurt you this way. You deserve-"

"You?" Cecil interrupts, humorless sarcasm clear across his face. "I deserve you?" Earl is caught off guard as much by the question as by the tone in which it's asked. "You're wrong. You don't care about me. You _never_ cared about me," Cecil snaps. "All those times I walked away, not once did you ever come after me. And I wanted you to!" His voice breaks slightly despite his attempts to keep a cold exterior. "It's fucked up, I know, but I wanted you to see that my life was a mess, that I needed you. But you just..you just let me fall apart. We don't talk anymore - as far as I can tell we aren't even friends! You haven't even looked my way in over a year." Earl drops his gaze to a tumbleweed invading the few feet between them. Cecil laughs dryly. "Hell, why break that streak now?"

" _You're_ wrong," Earl says, keeping his voice steady and leveling his gaze with Cecil's. "How do you think you made it home all those nights you were too blind drunk to even walk? Why do you think the worst guys, the ones that even _you_ knew were bad news, never asked you out on second dates?" Cecil's mouth falls slightly open, but no words make their way out. Acting entirely on impulse, Earl takes two steps closer. "I let you go because I thought that was what you wanted. Cecil Gershwin Palmer, you can accuse me of a lot of things, but don't you for one second say I never cared about you."

The tense moment lasts only a heartbeat, but also stretches on forever before Cecil reaches up and pulls Earl into a kiss. It's sloppy and uncoordinated and tastes wrong. Earl cups his face in both hands and kisses him again, gentler, more carefully, and suddenly they're fifteen and by a campfire underneath a canopy of stars until reality and biology forces them to separate for breath.

"I have always cared," Earl whispers as he presses his forehead to Cecil's.

"Even after all the ways I've treated you?" Cecil asks uncertainly. "All the years I've wasted..."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Earl assures him, unable to stop the grin that's spread across his face. "None of it matters except what happens next. We're officially adults as of today. It's a new chapter, and we don't have to be the same people we were. We can write a new story together. We can start right now."

Cecil laughs, a choked hiccuping sound of relief as he twines their fingers together. "So where do we go from here?"

Earl leans down and kisses him again softly, the way he's always dreamed of doing, and nothing could ever feel more right. "We don't have to go anywhere. We can stay right here if it's what you want."

It's not that Cecil wakes up early so much as he doesn't really sleep. He dozes off sporadically throughout the night, but drifts back into consciousness frequently. It's not entirely unpleasant either; the breaks in his fitful sleep are filled with little glimpses of fluttering eyelashes so pale they're nearly translucent and sinewy arms smattered with freckles wrapped protectively around his waist. He memorizes the moments as best he can. They're numbered after all, and he knows their number is small.

Earl usually wakes with the sunrise, so Cecil waits until the sky begins to quaver between indigo and periwinkle before disentangling himself from their makeshift bed of old blankets on sand. Several yards away from the still-sleeping scoutmaster, a vividly-colored bird pecks a rhythm into a cactus in search of nourishment. Cecil whistles a soft two note call and begins to tap a message with a fingertip on one of the empty orange milk bottles they left strewn about the night before. The bird picks up on the message and begins to rap the new rhythm into the body of the cactus. A scout with as many avian communication badges as Earl will parse the code as morse immediately. With little trouble he will translate the letters and understand the message.

What he won't understand is the sentiment behind the generic goodbye and the insincere promise of a postcard from some faraway destination. Earl would never understand it because he still believes in concepts like love and honor and some modicum of good left in the world. Where Earl saw galaxies and stars, Cecil only ever glimpsed the empty void behind them. They could never have their own story. They could never have anything.

Cecil is careful not to wake him, tiptoeing as he collects his clothes and belongings from around their little campsite. For one last moment he looks back at everything he ever wanted dreaming peacefully beneath a lightening sky. It's true, he thinks, that people look younger when they sleep. Earl could be the same boy he first fell in love with all those years ago in the same sandy desert beneath the same starry sky. His fingers ruffle through mussed ginger locks affectionately. "I could never deserve you," he whispers. He leans in to press one last kiss goodbye to Earl's temple before slipping silently away as the first beams of sunlight paint the desert sky.

* * *

 _notes: haha remember when I said it gets happier? I lied, whoops. but I felt it was time to tie in a little bit of canon! (Cecil sounded slightly suggestive about remembering their gradation party so...I sorta ran with it?) there will be one more chapter after this, and as promised it really will end kinda happily!..ish!_


	4. Always Remember That

_The weather for this chapter is "Someone To Watch Over Me" by Coeur de Pirate_

* * *

Cecil is talking to him, voice smooth as it effortlessly glides through syllables that Earl can't piece together. He's desperate to open his eyelids to confirm that he's really here - really back, really alive and listening to a familiar voice sooth him back to consciousness. The desert had been so lonely, the void so dark, the journey so long; even now it seems to take hours to open his eyes to the world around him. His movements feel slowed as if through water as he pushes himself up and searches for the source of the words that gradually flow into focus. His heart drops as unadjusted eyes settle on an old pickup truck several yards away. The voice flows out through the radio, a lilt carried on the warm breeze drifting across the sand wastes.

A news broadcast. Of course. Earl drops his head into palms braced against his knees. He can't remember how long he's been gone or what he's been through or how he's managed to make it back to the outskirts of home. The past months fuzz into static that accentuates the pounding headache at his temples. Going back is no good, so what of moving forward? The scoutmaster's head bobs up as the radio gives way to the first chords of a weather broadcast. The last thing he clearly remembers is saying goodbye to Cecil at the station. The first thing he knows now is Cecil's voice over the broadcast. It seems like a logical place to start.

He swings himself into the seat of the familiar pickup, surprised and then not surprised to find keys waiting for him in the ignition. As he turns onto the highway, he tries to think of what to say once he reaches his destination. A plea for help, a proclamation of love, possibly both? All he knows is that all roads begin and end with Cecil. They always have.

Earl is so caught up in formulating some hazy plan that he nearly misses unexpected details meticulously tucked into place: a blurred photograph of a faceless child slipped into his visor, a portable GPS automatically routed to a house in an unfamiliar new development, a neatly folded white uniform peeking out from a cubbyhole in the passenger door. Something about his truck has changed. Possibly someone has been borrowing it, or even claimed it for their own under the assumption he wouldn't return. Earl can't blame them; he hadn't been sure he would ever return himself.

As he pulls into the radio station's nearly-vacant lot, he takes a quick assessment of himself. His scout uniform is wrinkled and torn and covered in dirt and sweat and ectoplasm. He's sure to anyone whose senses are not long-adjusted, he probably smells something terrible. A glance into the mirror confirms that he even _looks_ different, somehow older than he remembered himself to be. But none of it matters. This is where he has always begun and will always end. This time he'll do it right.

He's deliberate as he hurries through the labyrinth of hallways leading to the recording booth. There's something desperate prompting his steps, even to the point of bypassing an unfortunate intern seemingly trapped floating in an emerald beam of light. He doesn't stop until he reaches the production room attached to the booth. From the opposite side of tinted plexiglass, he catches a glimpse of Cecil. Compared to his own appearance, Cecil looks flawless; soft flannel smooths the edges of his angular frame, oversized glasses hiding amber eyes, dark hair pulled into a messy, tangled bun. At this point, Earl decides the proclamation of love to definitely be the better option. He has one hand on the door when Cecil looks sharply up from his distracted twiddling on the phone in his hands. The weather music comes to a graceful end, and he switches the microphone back on to finish the show. Earl decides whatever he has to say can wait until the ' _On Air_ ' sign flickers out. He leans against a metal shelf bolted to the wall and works at refining his imagined conversation.

He'll tell Cecil about the desert, about the void, about the static filling his mind at any more detailed description than that. He'll tell Cecil how he was stupid to ever let him go, how he should have taken care of him like he had always promised, how nearly dying put everything into perspective. How he won't be afraid this time. He'll tell Cecil-

"Over the break, I asked Carlos about the strange lights, listeners," Cecil narrates evenly. Earl can't place why the name sounds familiar. "I will remind you that Carlos is not only a brilliant scientist, but also a brave hero, and an exceptionally loving and much missed boyfriend."

Right.

Cecil's continuing on - something about how all this qualifies Carlos to know something about invading celestial beings - but Earl is too busy biting down on his lip until it draws blood.

He wants to stay, wants to pass whatever test he knows he's failing, but his feet have other plans. He's out of the station and back in the desert air before he consciously realizes where he's going. A battered - but living - intern no longer trapped in a glowing beam asks him something as he passes them in the parking lot. He thinks they asked if he's alright, so he nods. He is. He will be.

His feet carry him as far as the curb out front of the Ralph's before he slumps to the concrete. He takes a deep breath, exhaling what would have been his first words since returning to existence.

"I fought my way back for you."

The admission falls empty on the hushed night. Even the birds are silent, leaving Earl to his too-loud thoughts and the hum of static still echoing through his mind. He isn't sure how long he sits there on the curb before a voice disturbs him.

"Little Early Harlan! I thought that was you I saw running past the car lot!"

The scoutmaster erases the self-pity from his features as best he can before turning to face the visitor. "It's been a long time since anyone's called me that, Miss Josie," he corrects her politely. The old woman raises one drawn-on eyebrow in a jovial challenge. Earl has seen that look so many times, though he has never seen the strange warbled patches of night sky that seem to mimic the expression on either side of Josie. Right now, however, he isn't in much of a mood for curious questions or even polite conversation. He's just about to make an excuse and go find his once-more-abandoned truck when Josie plops to the curb next to him in a motion equal parts spry and graceless.

"I assume you were at the station tonight?" she asks brightly.

"How would you.." his eyes are drawn immediately back to the rippling shadows behind the old woman, and the static in his mind begins to buzz raucously. He decides not to finish the question.

"I understand why you would go there first. But you know," Josie says slowly, clearly choosing her words with care. "Cecil isn't your responsibility anymore. He has somebody else now, someone to take care of him."

"There's always somebody else," Earl snorts derisively.

"Hey now," Josie chides gently. "That scientist fellow, he's a good man. An outsider," she allows, "but a good man." She reaches over and rests a feather-soft hand on his shoulder; the motion is curiously accompanied with the sound of wings flapping from somewhere above and slightly behind them. "We don't have to worry about him anymore."

"I'm never going to get this right, am I?" Earl asks after the silence again settles in around them. "Why did I leave the station? Why does one of us _always_ leave?" Josie doesn't answer. Earl pulls his knees up onto the curb, rests his elbows atop them, and buries his fingers into tangled ginger curls. "I think all the time about Europe. I should have followed him when he left. How different would things be now if I had gone after him?"

"You know he would never have remembered even if you had," Josie reminds him. "Not after everything they did to him when he got back. Besides, he was meant to go alone. He had to find himself out there somewhere. Some journeys we have to make by ourselves, to teach us things." She turns slightly to face the scoutmaster more directly. "And how was your journey, Earl? What have you learned?"

"That some things aren't worth fighting for in the end," he spits bitterly. Josie's wrinkles deepen in disapproval, and suddenly he can feel the gaze of dozens of eyes all glaring with just as much distaste for his response.

"Life goes on," Josie retorts sharply. "That's your lesson." Then gentler, "And you know that boy loves you. The day you disappeared, I'm surprised he remembered his own name after how much he drank to forget. But love isn't always the way we want, and in the end life goes on. So now the question is, what are you going to do from here?"

Earl pauses to consider the options. He hadn't really had a plan beyond his half-baked confession at the station. He isn't even fully sure what his options are past that. Surely they would have read the runes for his replacement with the scouts by now, which also implies the loss of his lodge and all his personal effects to the new scoutmaster.

"I guess get a job, find somewhere to live.." he mumbles vaguely.

"I think if you look in your truck, you'll find much of that has already been taken care of for you," Josie offers. She looks him over once, nostalgia tugging her features into a fond smile. "Ah, little Early Harlan. You're not nineteen anymore are you? All grown up it would seem." Earl mirrors her smile to the best of his abilities. He certainly doesn't feel all grown up, not when she's clucking and fussing with his battered uniform the way she always did when he was just a cub scout. "You'll be just fine. But you're not even going to go tell Cecil you're back?"

Earl shrugs as he pushes himself to his feet and offers a hand to her, the practiced manners of a scout becoming more and more familiar with every moment that the static in his mind fades.

"He'll find me when he needs me," Earl sighs, resignation flooding through him in a familiar way that's almost comforting. "That's how things have always been."

* * *

 _notes: I really wanted to tie in Earl's return to existence, and of course every story could use more feisty Old Woman Josie in it since I like to think she's basically every Night Vale resident's grandmother. I also have a headcanon that with Carlos being gone to the Desert Otherworld, Earl and Cecil spend a lot of time together as just friends, so I wanted to end this going in that sort of a direction._

 _Anyway, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story! If you'd like to come exchange angsty headcanons or simply sit in silent awe of the void with me, I can be found at ducktelepathy on tumblr!_


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